There was a low couch along one wall, a plank coffee table in front of it. In the middle of the room sat a long table topped with rolls of canvas, cups of paintbrushes, and tubes and jars of paint. Part of the table slanted up to hold a work in progress at an angle for easier painting. Lulu stood in front of it, dowsing a brush in clear liquid.
There was a kitchen along the wall in the middle, a long bank of open shelves and cabinets with an island in front. And on the facing wall, an old-fashioned secretary cabinet with an aluminum chair in front, a pile of bills on the open desktop.
“This place is . . . amazing.”
“Thanks.” She went to the sink, washed her hands.
“I brought coffee from Leo’s. Mocha for you; double espresso for me.” I put hers on the island, took mine, and opened the tab that kept liquid from sloshing in the Auto. They deducted extra funds from your account if you dirtied up the interior.
Lulu laughed. “You made it nearly forty-eight hours without a Leo’s run.”
“Not even,” I said. “My parents met me at the airport with a cup.”
“Addict.”
“Loud and proud.”
Lulu snorted. “Either way, thank you, because I need the jolt. I’ve been at this for hours.” She rolled her shoulders as she dried off her hands, then moved toward the coffee.
I walked to a bookshelf made of plumbing fixtures and unpainted boards, surveyed the photographs spread across the top. There was one of Lulu’s parents, one of the cat, and one of us. We’d been in junior high—made up almost entirely of knees and elbows—and convinced we were badasses.
“A lot of leggings in this picture,” I said lightly.
“And pointy eyeliner. We must have been going through a phase.”
“Evidently so.”
“Riley didn’t kill anyone,” Lulu said suddenly.
So much for the preliminaries.
I looked back and found Lulu at the island, one leg crossed over the other, the drink cradled in her hands. And misery in her eyes.
“No,” I said, walking back. “I don’t think he did. I think someone else did, then set him up for it.”
She looked up. “Why would they do that?”
“I don’t know yet. Have you talked to him recently?”
“No.” She adjusted in her seat, obviously uncomfortable. “Not since the breakup, when we had to exchange some stuff. But other than that, no. I haven’t talked to him.”
She sipped her drink as if looking for something to do, something to fill the quiet that she couldn’t fill with words.
“He’s at the brick factory,” I said. “If you want to go see him, I mean.”
“I don’t think that would be a good idea.” But the look on her face said she was conflicted.
“Okay.” I climbed onto a stool, sipped my coffee. “What about the Pack? Do you know of anything weird going on with them? Anything someone might target Riley about?”
“No, or not that I’m aware of.”
“Would you be?”
She frowned. “I don’t know. I’ve been at Little Red more in the last few weeks than I have in the past four years. So I’m around.” She lifted a shoulder. “You know they’re going to Alaska?”
I nodded. “Yeah. Riley was supposed to go with them. He won’t be going now—at least not until this is cleared up. But I don’t see how that would matter enough for someone to kill over it.”
“Me, either.”
“Okay,” I said, and put down the coffee cup. I shifted on the stool to pull out the bauble I’d found at Cadogan House. “What about this?”
She didn’t take the handkerchief or the object, but leaned over to peer at it. “There’s magic in this,” Lulu said. “You don’t have to use magic to recognize it.”
I didn’t detect any magic, so it must have been faint. “Does it look familiar to you?”
“No. I mean, it’s pretty, but not familiar. What is it?”
“I don’t know. I found it at Cadogan House. Near where Tomas was killed.”
“Maybe someone dropped it,” Lulu said. “I mean, there was a party, right? Doesn’t mean it came from the killer.”
“No, it doesn’t.” But there was still something about it that seemed familiar, and that bugged me.
“Didn’t you take video of the reception or something?”
“Yeah, for Seri,” I said absently, peering at the gold. There was dirt in some of the filigree, but that might have been from my stepping on it. “Did you want to watch it?”
“No.” She chuckled. “Aren’t there supernaturals in that video? You know”—she waved a finger at the brooch—“dressed up?”
I looked up, stared at her for a moment. “Oh my god, you’re a genius.”
She huffed, sipped her drink. “You may be the Watson to my Sherlock.”
“Who’s your Moriarty?”
“TBD,” she said. “Let’s see some fringe and fangs.”
* * *
• • •
There wasn’t much of either in the reception. Plenty of silk and sequins, a dryad with skin patterned like birch bark, and, of course, Tabby, who was too sexy for her shirt.
But we didn’t see the brooch. Not pinned to a sash or a bodice or a hat.
“Maybe you’re right,” I said. “Maybe it’s a total coincidence. A bit of jewelry dropped sometime between 1883”—that’s when Cadogan House was founded—“and earlier tonight.”
“Or it could be a fairy.”
I tossed my empty cup in the recycling box. “Yeah, there were a few fairies there. But more vampires.”
“No. Not any fairy. This fairy.”
I turned back. “What?”
With a satisfied smile, she pointed at the screen. “I found your brooch wearer.”
“You are kidding.”
I hustled back to Lulu and the screen, watched the video she’d pulled up and enhanced. Something glinted on the tunic worn by one of the fairies—tall and pale, with sleek, dark hair and chiseled cheekbones—who followed Claudia and Ruadan in the procession down the runway. As he moved, the glint resolved. The gold knot was pinned at his throat.
“You were not kidding.”
“Nope. Do you know him?”
“No.” I hadn’t seen him at the party, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t been skulking around.
Of course, the fact that a fairy had worn the pin found near the crime scene didn’t mean it had been used to commit murder. It could have just fallen off the tunic.
“Why would a fairy have killed an ambassador from Europe?” she asked, when the parade wound to a close.
“I don’t know. The fairies were dicks at the first session, and so was Tomas. Both of them railed about vampire and shifter conspiracies.”
“And then a shifter is accused of killing a vampire. That’s convenient.”
I looked at her. “Yeah,” I said slowly. “That is convenient. Maybe they did want to disrupt the peace talks. I mean, that mission was at least partially accomplished by the fairies when they barged in yesterday, but the murder got tonight’s session canceled, too. But it still seems really indirect. Why not just attack the talks themselves—literally, not in the fairy-interruption way? Or take credit for the murder because you think it will get you some political traction?”
“I don’t know.” She put down the screen, folded her hands on the island, and looked at me. “Maybe we should ask them.”
“Ask who?”
“The fairies. I have a car.” She held up her fists and mimed a steering wheel. “We get into it, go to the castle, and ask them.”
“No,” I said. “Absolutely not. That’s too dangerous.” And a violation of so many rules that even Connor might have balked at it.
“It’s not a risk-free idea,” she admitted. “But what’s the other option? We sit around while Riley’s in lockup?”
“We could end up dead.”
“That’s true for you every time the sun rises. The only thing that matters is what you do in the dark.”
I narrowed my gaze at her. “That was really philosophical.”